


Couldn't, Wouldn't (1/1)

by sevendeadlyfun



Category: Jossverse
Genre: CoSoRanOb, M/M, Pre-Canon, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevendeadlyfun/pseuds/sevendeadlyfun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>He couldn't, wouldn't, do what he craved. Couldn't, wouldn't, push his way into the sleep lax body and celebrate the death of a Slayer. But this was his doing, his web of death and destruction woven with glee and he was well and truly caught in it.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Couldn't, Wouldn't (1/1)

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

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[pr0n](http://sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com/tag/pr0n), [prompt fic](http://sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com/tag/prompt%20fic), [spike/angel](http://sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com/tag/spike/angel)  
  
  
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Pairing: Spike/Angel

Rating: NC-17

Summary: _He couldn't, wouldn't, do what he craved. Couldn't, wouldn't, push his way into the sleep lax body and celebrate the death of a Slayer. But this was his doing, his web of death and destruction woven with glee and he was well and truly caught in it._

A/N: Written for [](http://clawofcat.livejournal.com/profile)[**clawofcat**](http://clawofcat.livejournal.com/) for her CoSoRanOb challenge. The prompts were: Spike and any character _except_Xander or Lindsey, red, explosions, and a technological device. For those who are curious, the bona fides for the technological device used in this story can be found [here](http://www.vibratormuseum.com/).

The noise deafened him, the subsonic booms of the explosions scraping against his raw emotions, threatening to drive him mad. He could feel Darla's eyes boring into him, cataloging every flinch and tremble. He wished, not for the first time, that he could claw the soul from his body. He felt it as a physical thing, an entity that roiled and rolled under his skin, slipping just out of his reach every time he tried to grab hold of it.

The city burned around them, the stink of ash and putrid flesh settling on his skin. He bristled, unable to stop himself. He longed to be clean and being here, now, made him feel unclean. Every scream, every body he passed by left its mark on him. Tainted him somehow, in a way he couldn't quite understand.

His gaze was caught by a couple, arms entwined and moving leisurely, almost strolling, through the chaos of a world gone to hell. He stared, fighting to keep his face impassive. The face was familiar: innocent blue eyes and a devil's own smile. But seeing it streaked in bright red blood almost brought him to his knees.

He'd done that. Taken innocence and perverted it to his own ends. As he listened to the bluster and bravado, he could only see the desperation of a boy's need for approval. He couldn't, wouldn't, give it. Couldn't bear to shatter the pride and pleasure on that sweetly hopeful face.

"I guess this makes you one of us," he acknowledged coldly.

Later, when the screams had quieted to dull moans and pleas for help, mercy, water, he stood staring at the silent form laid out in a stolen bed. He didn't know whose bed it had been, only that they were now dead and rotting somewhere in this house. The lad on the bed had helped to kill them, dropping their lifeless bodies like so much trash.

"Gonna come in?" The voice, filled with sleep, seduced him from his doorway perch.

He couldn't, wouldn't, do what he craved. Couldn't, wouldn't, push his way into the sleep lax body and celebrate the death of a Slayer. But this was his doing, his web of death and destruction woven with glee and he was well and truly caught in it.

"Have a wee surprise for you," he murmured, fingers brushing gently over tightly budded nipples.

The soft intake of breath pulled an unwilling smile from him. He loved to make Spike breath, loved the feeling of power it gave him. The soul hadn't taken that from him, at least.

He spread a thin layer of petrolatum over the thick knob protruding from the round metallic wand. The machine was bulky, noisy, and almost comically unsuitable for fucking. He'd bought it almost a year ago, amused at the novel idea that anyone would require some piece of metal to do their screwing. Now he was grateful for the distance it placed between them.

He pushed Spike over, face and belly down. No point in playing coy now, pretending to a need for teasing touches or gentleness. Spike had likely been hard since the first drops of Slayer blood touched his tongue. Nothing between them had ever been gentle.

He suddenly had an aching desire to erase that, an ache that encompassed his entire existence. But tonight wasn't meant for that. Sorries and sorrow had no place in this act; he tucked them away as he pushed the thick knob into Spike, forcing it past the tight ring of muscle that pulsed and flexed against the intrusion.

As soon as the thick rubber was fully seated, he pushed down on the round button. As it sank into the handle, the machine shuddered to life, the loud droning buzz almost drowned out by the surprised shout that escaped from Spike's lips. His head popped up, back arching.

Limned in the moonlight, the expression of Spike's face captivated him. The whitewashed paleness of his skin, the almost bruise color of the shadows made by his lashes, the perfect round o of his full lips; all elements of some erotic portrait he itched to paint. He stared, desperate to engrave the details in his memory.

He pulled on the vibrating machine, sliding almost out of Spike's body and pushing it forward again. Spike stiffened, reaching around to pull roughly at his dripping prick. One more tug and push, this one angled slightly upward to apply the stimulating vibration to the round nub nestled there.

Spike shuddered, thick curses flowing from his lips as his cock pulsed and spat. Droplets of semen fell onto the duvet, a pitter-patter of sticky rain. The heavy brine scent permeated the room, teasing at his nose and stirring his groin. He could feel his arousal growing and he hated it.

He pulled the machine from Spike's now lax and sated body with an almost indecent haste. He'd deluded himself into thinking the metal and rubber would keep him from enjoying this, keep him clean. Nothing he did or touched would ever be clean.

He leapt from the bed, striding out of the room without touching or looking at Spike. He couldn't, wouldn't. But he wasn't fast enough to escape the sound of his name, floating on a soft sight.

"Angelus."  


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**Couldn't, Wouldn't (1/1)**   
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End file.
